Perverted Creatures
by halfie1981
Summary: Lorcan And Lysander Scamander are far from normal, but even they aren't aware of how strange they truly are. Warning: Twincest, Slash, EXTREME MATURE SITUATIONS AND IDEAS.
1. Accidental Perversions

Disclaimer: The characters and locations portrayed herein belong to JK Rowling, Scholastic/Bloomsbury and Warner Bros. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made.

Notes: This is unbeta'd, so my apologies for any mistakes.

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The first time was an accident.

Lorcan had gone to look for his brother after all the other team members had returned from quidditch practice without him, which was unusual as Lysander was almost always right in the middle of whatever was going on.

When Lorcan had realised Lysander wasn't amongst the loud, joking throng of quidditch players, he had immediately made his way to the changing room to see what was taking Lysander so long. Lorcan had long ago taken the role of protector where his brother was concerned, for Lysander was open and kind and funny; and Lorcan was aware of how easily people would take advantage of that.

Upon entering the changing rooms, Lorcan was immediately enveloped in the steam that was creeping slowly from the shower room. As he made his way over, he noted Lysander's clothes on a bench, and knew that Lysander was taking one of his long showers, as was his habit every now and again.

Coming closer, Lorcan heard a whimper, and sped up immediately, visions of Lysander being hurt or tormented swimming in his mind. Lysander had been bullied when the twins had first come to Hogwarts. Bullied for his sweet gentle personality and his lack of self censorship. Lorcan had stopped it almost immediately, with a vicious hex he had learned from Uncle Harry. Everyone had learned that Lorcan Scamander was a bad tempered sod, and that attacks on his brother would be met with pain, lots of pain.

When Lorcan rounded the corner, just about to step into the shower room and start throwing curses, the sight that met him caused him the stop in his tracks, frozen from shock.

Lysander was wanking; running his hand gently up and down his erect cock, finger teasing the slit at the top. One hand was on the tiled wall, arm bracing and carrying Lysander's weight. His head was lowered, water pouring down his neck and back, over his pert, rounded arse. His eyes, those blue eyes that were the match of Lorcan's were almost closed, mere slits of blue fire; his mouth open slightly, allowing his breath to leave in little pants that seemed to go straight to Lorcan's cock.

Lysander was beautiful, and although Lorcan knew it was wrong, terribly wrong to see his brother like this and..and want him, he couldn't help himself. His cock was straining against his trousers, and he couldn't hold himself in check any longer. He moved back to a shadowed corner near the shower room entrance, a place that afforded him a perfect view of Lysander, but allowed him to hide and ensure Lysander couldn't see him.

Lowering his zip and releasing his straining cock, already wet at the tip with pre come, he bit down hard on his lip and began to stroke himself, matching his timing with Lysander. When Lysander swiped his thumb over the slit, so did Lorcan. When Lysander's fingers left his cock for a moment to ghost gently over his balls, Lorcan's fingers copied the action on his own balls.

Lysander's moans and whimpers served to make Lorcan's fingers move faster over himself, losing his rhythm and feeling his orgasm approaching with fire trailing trough his veins and star bursts behind his eyelids. As Lysander moaned a final time, low and guttural, Lorcan felt his balls tighten and couldn't hold off any more. Head falling back against the cold stone wall, he fell over the edge, come covering his hand and falling onto the floor below him.

Lorcan didn't allow himself time to think on what had happened. He shoved his softening cock back into his trousers and snuck out while Lysander finished off his shower, desperate not to get caught. He had gone back to his dorm, sat on his bed with the curtains closed and a silencing charm erected, and cried. Cried because he had just betrayed his beloved brother's trust. Cried because he had become an utterly perverted bastard. Cried because he knew that no matter how wrong it was, how perverted it was, he knew he'd watch again.

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And so it went. When Lysander took his long showers, Lorcan stood in shadows waiting for the moment when Lysander would take his cock in hand and start wanking. When Lysander closed the curtains around his bed, Lorcan knew what he was doing, and the knowledge was enough for Lorcan to close his eyes and imagine he was watching Lysander again.

Lysander knew something was wrong. Every time Lorcan flinched from an innocent touch of Lysander's hand, every time he saw Lorcan watching him from lowered eyelids, tracking his movements.

Lorcan knew he was becoming obsessed. Lysander only had to smile at him and he was hard, causing him to run off and wank, knowing that he was calling Lysander's name when he came. He knew it was only a matter of time before he was caught, as he nearly had been last week.

Seeing Lysander push two fingers roughly into his own arse and start pumping them in and out in time with his hand on his cock had driven Lorcan to the edge of his self control and the resulting moan was louder than Lysander's. It was only due to Lysander's utter absorption in his own pleasure that Lorcan was not caught.

Lorcan had become even more bad tempered, snapping at everyone who tried to speak to him, other than Lysander, cursing anyone who actually dared to touch him, like Fenella Davies had; dragging her finger slowly up his arm and pushing her large breasts against his shoulder.

It had taken Madam Pomfrey two days to find the counter curse and remove the tentacles from Fenella's stomach. She had come to Lorcan after her release from the hospital wing and asked him to teach her the curse, blushing and mumbling something about not needing a bloke when Lorcan had found his voice and asked her why she wanted to know it.

Lorcan felt slightly better at finding out this admittedly weird new kink of Fenella's. At least he wasn't the only sexual freak at Hogwarts. That didn't mean, however, that what he was doing was okay. It wasn't. Lysander would never forgive him if he ever found out, so Lorcan had to stop.

As he watched Lysander leave the dorm, muttering about going for a shower, Lorcan stood, promising himself that this would be the last time.

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Lysander was under the shower, hand stroking his cock hard and fast, three finger pumping in and out of his arse roughly, his moans and pants falling harshly from mouth and echoing in the tiled room. The loud moan that didn't come from his mouth almost stopped him in his tracks, but he realised that he knew that voice, although he'd never heard it moan like that before.

Opening his eyes slightly, he turned his head slowly and by tiny increments in the direction of the moan, and saw his brother in the shadowed corner, fisting his cock and biting his lip so hard that blood was flowing down his chin.

Making no sign that he had seen Lorcan, Lysander forced another finger roughly inside his arse, the knowledge that Lorcan was watching spurring him on. As he felt his balls tighten, he threw his head back and screamed, wordless and low.

Once his orgasm was over, and he relaxed under the hot water pouring down, soothing his taut muscles and rinsing away any evidence of his pleasure, Lysander thought about Lorcan/ Now it all made sense, the possessive looks, the temper getting even worse. He just didn't know what to do about it.

Knowing Lorcan had been watching him, had been wanking over him had turned him on more than any fantasies he'd had about other boys, and the thought of Lorcan touching him was even more exciting. It was wrong, it was definitely unacceptable by society's standards, but Lysander didn't care.

He had to talk to Lorcan.


	2. Talk Is Cheap

Disclaimer: The characters and locations portrayed herein belong to JK Rowling, Scholastic/Bloomsbury and Warner Bros. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made.

Notes: This is unbeta'd, so my apologies for any mistakes.

* * *

Lysander was becoming increasingly annoyed. For Lysander to become annoyed was a rare thing indeed; his amiable personality and laid back world view meant that event he most terrible insult, or the most inconvenient occurrence merely drew a lopsided smile and shrug from him. He had grown up knowing that he had a brother who could, and would, fix anything. Whether it was Lysander's short stint as the bullies favourite victim, to Lysander being skint on a Hogsmede weekend, Lorcan always fixed things.

But Lorcan wasn't fixing this, for Lorcan was the problem. Every time Lysander looked at Lorcan, Lorcan left. When Lysander managed to talk to him; never on their own, as Lorcan seemed to be sticking to public places, or places where other's were nearby, Lorcan would answer in monosyllables and stalk off, tension tightening his shoulders and drawing his eyebrows low and closer together. If Lysander sat next to him in class, Lorcan would move tables, force someone else to sit Lysander, and spend the rest of the period engrossed in the lessons or resolutely staring in the opposite direction to his increasingly pissed off brother.

Lorcan had even gone so far as to get himself two months worth of detention, which was a punishment much improved from the expulsion that was threatened. Lorcan had always been the more violent twin, his viciousness only increased in the recent weeks, but even Lorcan would not normally have gone so far. Tiberius Montague was a wanker, certainly, but everyone knew to ignore him. When he had loudly opined that Lorcan looked like he'd just rolled out of bed, Lorcan's eyes had narrowed and his hand had clenched around his wand. When Montague had asked "Were they good, Scamander?" Lorcan had growled, low and threatening, reminding Lysander of a Hell Hound's warning growl.

When Montague had smirked, nodded towards Lysander and said "But of course, little brother there is the only one you've ever willingly touched, maybe I should ask him if you were any good.", Lorcan had snapped, using curses darker than Lysander had ever seen from him. The resulting mess that had once been Tiberius Montague was moved to St. Mungo's within half an hour.

The horrible, blank look on Lorcan's face during the interview with the Aurors in the Headmistress' office had frightened Lysander even more than the terrible, bloody mess that was left of Montague when Lorcan was done. Their mother had managed to convince McGonnagall to allow Lorcan to stay; the affection between them, leftover from the the Great War, had been palpable and undoubtedly was the only reason the Headmistress had capitulated and agreed to Lorcan's continued presence at school.

The two months detention with Professor Hagrid had been coupled with the loss of Lorcan's wand rights outside of class times. While this scared Lysander a little, for the loss of Lorcan's unfailing protection meant that the bullying may start up again, Lysander also felt an excitement bubbling inside him. Lorcan's inability to use magic to get away from him meant that Lysander had a chance to corner him.

Lysander knew that Lorcan was agonising over watching him wank. He knew that Lorcan wanted to do much more than watch, and while Lysander was still scared of what would would happen, he also knew that Lorcan was the only person who mattered. Lorcan was the one person who would never leave him, never hurt him, and it was worth exploring the strange, twisted lust that was currently simmering between them.

Lysander began to formulate a plan.

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Lorcan had had enough. The detentions, he could care less about. The loss of wand rights, while annoying, would end soon enough, and the fear that his attack on Montague had generated was enough to keep all possible enemies far from him. The knowledge that Lorcan had a long memory, and held onto grudges only long enough to see them fulfilled had long since permeated through even the most thick headed brain.

No, what was really getting to Lorcan was Lysander. He had managed, through sheer force of will, to stay away. Away from the showers, away from closed bed curtains and imagined caresses on a cock that was the match of his own. The guilt and self hatred still churned in his belly, the memory of wanton moans and questing fingers lingered still in his mind, but he had been strong enough to stay away.

The self imposed exile from his brother's sweet, gentle smile tore at him. He longed to innocently throw his arm lazily around Lysander's shoulders, bump heads gently and share observations on the idiots around them. He knew, however, that if he touched Lysander, even once, all of his hard won control would go, slip away like a dream in the first moments of waking, and he would be left only with desire, a wicked lust that forced him closer to Hell even as he basked in Heaven.

He was also becoming sickeningly poetic, and that simply wasn't on. That Lysander would not leave off was dragging him slowly into insanity. He watched him, he tried to talk to him. He sat next him in class, his knee innocently touching Lorcan's until Lorcan had to move away, or else throw Lysander onto the desk and fuck him in front of everyone. Fuck him until his throat was raw and legs couldn't hold up upright any more.

When Montague had made the crack about himself and Lysander, he snapped. The knowledge of just how close Montague had come to the truth shook him to his core, and the resulting assault was dreamlike in memory; the only thing Lorcan could truly remember thinking was At last, I can give my pain away, he knows, he must be removed. And removed he was. When Lorcan came back to himself, it was all he could do not to vomit, seeing blood and bile and urine pooling around a mass of flesh and visible bone that was once a handsome, vibrant boy.

The sound of girls crying and screaming, of boys vomiting wasn't as bad as the look on Lysander's face. It was a look of terror, a question in his brothers eyes. The brother he would die for, kill for, torture for, wondered whether Lorcan would do that to him. Throughout the questioning of the Aurors, all he could think was that he had lost Lysander. When his mother embraced him, told him she loved him and they would get through this, all he could think was that he had lost Lysander. And when Lysander had walked away afterwards, seemingly drawn within himself, all he could think was that he had lost Lysander.

And so he found himself going to a room his mother and Uncle Neville had told him about. As he climbed the stairs, he wondered, yet again, whether Lysander would ever forgive him. He hadn't tried to talk to him for days now, had sat with Fenella Fucking Davies in every class, letting her flirt with him, giving her that lazy insouciant smile that made Lorcan's cock twitch and his blood rise. Shaking his head to remove the image from his mind, he carried on towards the Room of Requirement. When he arrived, he was surprised to find a door already in place. As he turned to leave, assuming that someone was in there, maybe fucking, maybe fighting, He heard a step behind him, saw a flash of red from the corner of eye, and everything faded to black.

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Lorcan's eyes slowly opened, his head felt heavy and disorientated. He had been stunned, he remembered, from behind by the Room of Requirement. Awareness flooded back to him, muscles tightened as he tried to stand, teeth ground together as he tried to break the bonds keeping him captive. If he was going to take a beating, he'd do it on his feet, like a fucking man, not tied down and whimpering like a child.

Head twisting one way and then the other, he looked around the room, which was.....certainly not a room he would expect someone with violence on the their mind to create. Well, not violence of a normal nature, anyway. He was tied to a chair, set in the middle of a sumptuously furnished room, burgundy and black sofas sat next to tables full of liquor, the fire spreading warmth outwards in a comforting wave. Set directly in front of him was a large four poster bed, upon which was a body, sat up against the pillows, arms outstretched over them, head tipped back, lazy and relaxed.

"What the fuck are you playing at Lysander?" Lorcan growled, low and angry, hoping to convince his brother to give up the ridiculous game he was playing and let him go. To let him go before he spilled out all of his filthy wants, before he drove Lysander even further away. The sight of Lysander, reclining against a bed that was big enough for a bloody orgy was beginning to get to him. He needed to get out of here before Lysander saw evidence of his sick desires.

"I'm forcing you to talk to me Lor. For the past month, you've snuck around, ignored me, snubbed me. It's not on and it has to stop. So we're going to talk about whatever it is that's bothering you, and we're going to get through it together, like we always have." Lysander's smile was edged with something Lorcan had never expected to see. It was somewhat twisted, a darkness there that was not a usual part of Lysander's nature.

"So you decided to knock me out and tie me up?" Lorcan shook his head, "No, Lye, we're not talking about it. It's got nothing to do with you. Untie me and let me fucking go, alright?"

Lysander seemed to pick up on the rising desperation in Lorcan's voice, as his smile became feral, and he shook his head. His hand trailed slowly down his torso, coming to rest on his jeans button. "No. If you refuse to talk to me like this, maybe you'll talk to me after."

"After what?"

"Just watch Lor. You like that, don't you, to watch." Lysander's fingers snapped open the buttons on his jeans, travelled upwards and smoothly removed his t-shirt. Lysander's eyes fell shut as his fingers slid across bare skin, moving across his nipples, pinching and twisting them, before travelling once again towards his jeans. As he pushed his jeans down and removed then, he smirked as he heard the sounds of Lorcan struggling violently against his bindings.

"No. No fucking way. This is wrong Lye. I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry but please, please don't do this too me. I can't...can't." Lorcan sounded broken by the end of his outburst, and Lysander looked up sharply, wondering if he was going to far. Upon seeing the hunger in his brother's eyes, however, he knew he hadn't yet gone far enough.

"Look at me Lor. I know you watch me. I know you wank while you watch me, and I know you hate yourself for it." He reached down and took his cock in his hand, sliding it slowly up and down once, finger ghosting over the slit in the head that was already leaking, smearing the moisture over himself. "I don't hate you for it. I've been as turned on as when I saw you stood there, cock in hand, biting your lip. I love that you want me so much that it's sending you crazy, but the crazy's gone a bit to far."

"I wont do this Lye. Can imagine what would happen if anyone found out? It would....fuck."

Lorcan's words trailed off as Lysander's now lubed fingers had moved behind him. As Lysander twisted so that Lorcan could see what he was doing, he slowly pushed two fingers into his arse, all the while stroking his cock. Lorcan whimpered, eyes travelling all over Lysander's body before meeting his eyes.

Lysander knew that Lorcan was too far gone now, knew that everything was poised on the edge of a precipice, and the only way things would be okay is if he moved forward without fear. He rose from the bed, letting go of his cock but never stopping his fingers assault on his arse.

Lorcan closed his eyes as Lysander drew nearer, shaking his head in denial, fingers forming fists with white knuckles. Once Lysander reached his brother, he opened Lorcan's trousers, Lorcan's engorged cock leaping free and straining upwards towards Lysander. Lysander urged Lorcan to raise his hips slightly, enabling Lysander to pull down Lorcan's trousers, his actions accompanied by Lorcan's pleas of "No, don't please, we can't, it's wrong."

A whispered charm, and Lysander was coating Lorcan's cock with lube. A moment later and Lysander was straddling Lorcan's thighs, poised above him, Lorcan's cock gently brushing his entrance. He twisted his fingers into Lorcan's hair, pulled his head upwards and spat "Look at me Lor, we do this together, okay?"

Lorcan's eyes bored into his, burning and fierce, he nodded once, and Lysander pressed down, feeling his brother's cock move slowly into his arse. A tear fell from Lorcan's eye, trailing down his face and Lysander bent forward and licked it, tasting salt. Their mouths pressed together in a tender kiss, lips opening and tongues meeting in a caress of love, an acceptance that they had finally crossed the limits and there was no going back.

As Lysander writhed, sliding up and down Lorcan's cock, their breathing became thready, skin flushed and sweat dripping slowly down their faces. Lysander's cock was trapped between them, rubbing against the rough material of Lorcan's shirt. Lorcan's cock was sliding over Lysander's prostate on every thrust, and Lysander was flying, ripped from his body and spilling outwards.

Lorcan's ragged scream filled his ears and he thrust once, twice before coming still, gulping in air as though he had been drowning. Lysander ran his fingers gently through Lorcan's hair, soft and thick, just like his own.

"We shouldn't have done that Lye, what's going to happen now?" Lorcan's voice sounded rough and breathless.

Lysander released the bindings on Lorcan, moved off his lap and began to pull him towards the bed. Smiling gently at him, Lysander sighed, and said "I don't know, but we'll do what we always do.

We'll meet it together."


	3. The Call Of The Hunt

Disclaimer: The characters and locations portrayed herein belong to JK Rowling, Scholastic/Bloomsbury and Warner Bros. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made.

Notes: This is unbeta'd, so my apologies for any mistakes.

* * *

The bright light burned through Lorcan's eyes, but the pain was nothing compared to the burn of the memories now seared into Lorcan's brain. He could hear the man talking, could even make out the words, but none of it really registered; he was still mired in the last two hours.

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_Lysander's blonde hair was sweat soaked and sticking to his brow, hanging in his eyes. Eyes that were almost closed from sensation. His mouth was open slightly, letting out the small, pained gasps of breath._

_His fingers travelled up the freckled, pale skinned back in front of him, tangled in the copper coloured hair and pulling back the head, claiming purchase for his ruthless, almost violent thrusts. _

_Lily Potter's palms pushed against the wall, her fingers scrabbling, nails scratching along the ancient stones as Lysander fucked her like a back alley whore. Little noises that Lorcan now realised were words spilled from her blood red lips._

_"Harder.... Faster..... Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck."_

_A litany of filth and betrayal, a curse that twisted and defiled anything that had ever passed between Lorcan and his brother._

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"Let's see if I have it straight, Mr. Scamander. You were upset about some as yet unstated occurrence. You were retreating back to your Dormitory when Tiberius Montague accosted you in the hallway. The..." Auror Potter looked down at his notes. "Third floor corridor in which stands the statue of Circe."

Lorcan nodded, still staring at the table in front of him, hands gripping tightly to the cup of weak, tasteless tea he was given by Uncle...Auror Potter.

"Montague made some allegations against you, concerning your close relationship with your twin brother, Lysander. This was a continuance of the....discussion that caused the previous...disagreement between yourselves. The disagreement that ended in Mr. Montague being treated in St. Mungo's for three weeks for a rather large amount of Spell Damage and Curse Residue. These facts are correct?"

"Yes." The word seemed to fill the room, Lorcan's voice dull.

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_He was running. Running away from the scene of a crime so heinous, so heartbreaking that he feared he never recover. Up stairs, past statues, on he ran, heading for the safety of his bed, and the drapes that could seal him from the world that had forsaken him._

_"Scamander. I think we have something to discuss."_

_"Fuck off Montague, I'm not in the mood. Or are you really so sick that you enjoyed what you got last time? Want some more, do you?" The growl was there, turning his usual sardonic voice wild and rough, the pressure of the storm rising from the angry, power filled words._

_"Magic's going a bit wild there, Scamander. I don't reckon you could control it enough to hurt me. Although I do owe you a little bit of a slap, certainly. Of course, my little friend has done it for me. All it cost was two hundred galleons, and little Lily Potter was bending over for your darling brother. He's quite good, it seems. Potter's taken a few good fucks before, doesn't often lose it enough to speak during."_

_He could feel it, under his skin. His magic was twisting, wild movements that bubbled through his veins and up his throat, threatening to spill out in words he never heard before, never learned, and yet understood._

_"I knew you were fucking Lysander. I mean, it's obvious, you're too close to be normal. It's not even a problem really, we're Pureblood. We understand that blood calls to it's own, that power sings a song only those closest to you can hear. _

_You shouldn't have gone mental, Scamander. And you should never have touched me. I'm a Montague, my family were lords when your ancestors were scrabbling in the mud looking for worms to eat. You deserve this, and more. Lily will keep him now that she's had him and found how good he is. And she'll share him with me. I'll make him suck my cock, make him scream my name and I'll lick the blood from his flesh after Lily's finished cutting him open._

_And he'll love it all. We'll twist him so much he begs for it. And you'll never touch him again. That's my weir gild, the cost you have to pay for the pain you gave me."_

_Lorcan had become something else, something not sane, something not merciful. He could smell the reek of fear spilling from Montague's flesh. He could hear the accelerated heart rate beating a staccato, a teasing sound that dragged him towards it. Made him want to bring it out of the pathetic body that housed it, to set it free and let it slip away into the night._

_As he moved forward, the look of terror that flashed onto his prey's face warmed him, and goaded him on._

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Auror Potter was standing now, pacing slowly across the width of the small, claustrophobic room.

"Lorcan, you have to tell me exactly what happened, or I can't help you. You do understand that if I can't help you, you'll be in Azkaban by tomorrow evening. The Dementors may not longer be there, but it's still an awful place. It will break you, Lorcan. Break you completely."

Lorcan was about to speak, to tell Uncle Harry that he was already broken. Broken by the sight of the other half of his soul fucking Uncle Harry's daughter into the wall. Broken by the insane feeling of exultation and immense pleasure he knew when he felt the life leave Tiberius Montague's body. Broken by the sounds of howling in his mind, getting closer, the knowledge that he could not outrun those frightening howls sitting in his mind like a death sentence.

He was about to say all of this and more, when the door was flung open and his mother strode in, eyes flashing and hair moving as though caught in a breeze.

"Harry Potter, I bled for you, I fought for you. I let an insane woman torture me and protected you against all the odds, despite all pain. I gave you my friendship, and have encouraged and accepted you in all things. Do not make me regret that now. Do you understand me?" Her words rang out, strong and carrying, and Lorcan watched as Harry Potter folded in upon himself, and followed Luna Scamander out of the room as though he was a disgraced puppy following his irate master.

As he leaned back, head tilted back and resting against the wall, he wondered how long he would be here, and what he would say to Lysander once he got back.

And Lily Potter, what would he do about her?


	4. Of Gods and Mortals

All recognisable characters belong to JK Rowling, Scholastic/Bloomsbury, Warner Bros. All unrecognised character, situations and ideas belong to me! No copyright infringement is intended, no money is being made.

* * *

She could hear her husband snoring through the ridiculously thin walls. It was time.

Luna gently lifted herself from her bed, threw on a fluffy and hopefully warm dressing gown and made her way out of her bedroom, through the back door and towards the bottom of their garden. Once at the bottom, she closed her eyes, a look of intense concentration emerging on her face , and disapparated with a slight, muffled pop.

She reappeared in the middle of dense forest. It could have been any forest, until you really looked around and took it all in. The trees were ancient, snarled and twisted; the green leaves and moss that covered them, grew from them, did nothing to alleviate their sinister and seemingly malevolent intent. The breeze that drifted through the leaves seemed to whisper; diabolical murmurs that slithered through the mind, sending fear sparking down the spine.

A rustle behind her caused to spin quickly, silvery blue eyes searching through the murky surroundings for it's origins.

"Merry met, little witchling. Tell me, which of those beautiful eyes do you see us with?"

Luna shivered as the words seemed to caress her flesh, sliding over her breasts and across her abdomen. The voice was low, cultured. It was urbane and slightly mocking. It also had a suggestion of a low, rumbling growl that carried with it a sense of danger. The voice said "Answer me correctly, or you shall not last long in this world."

"Merry met, my Lord. I see you with neither, though your voice I hear perfectly."

Another rustle, again behind her. Footsteps coming towards her. Stopping behind her. The heat of another's body, the tingle of magic so different and powerful waking her flesh to goosebumps. The scent of sunlight and ripe apples surrounding her, drugging her senses and muddling her mind. Hands, large, strong and shining white sliding around and meeting underneath her breasts, causing her nipples to tighten and other things to pulse in anticipation.

Long hair, the colour of fresh grass falling around her, enclosing her. Lips as soft as kitten fur moving slowly down her neck, her eyes closing and her head falling back against a strong, broad shoulder.

"Why have you sought my company this night? Do you forget your words to me so easily? You said that you neither wanted nor needed me. That I was merely an 'experience'. That my moonlight skin was no match for the sun-kissed flesh of your own kind. That I was too alien, too other, and that while I was a delightful lover, I am not a creature of constant emotion, and therefore.....unacceptable for anything more than a mere dalliance."

As he repeated her words to her, she remembered her fear, her sorrow and her regrets; all things she had felt seventeen years ago.

"I was afraid. I was lost. I was pregnant." her words fell into the darkness along with her tears.

"_I know._" her heart stopped, a pause that she was sure would be eternal. Her blood froze in her veins and she felt her legs begin to weaken. She turned in his arms, looked into his eyes, his eyes of petals of all shades and hues. They were the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen. The eyes of a God.

"You know? Then you know what is happening now, don't you? You know why one of my sons is losing his mind and killing. You know why he hears the baying of hounds."

"His hounds call to him. They call their master. You should have expected this. He awakens."

"He is a wizard. He is my child. They both are."

"No, little witch, they are my children, and I have them soon enough. The hunt readies itself. The hounds call and the oath-breakers huddle in corners, hide in shadows for fear of what will come. And come it will." His voice was resolute, cold and implacable.

"_No._" Her denials were useless, she knew. She had done this to them, in her stupidity and recklessness. She had thought herself able to take from a creature of nature and give nothing in return; and now her sons, her beautiful, ethereal, perfect sons were going to pay her debts.

"Of course. Had you forgotten there are two Courts?" The smile reaching his eyes, but showed no true happiness; only a cruel enjoyment of her pain and anticipation of more pain to come. "You can try to hide them, you can try to mute their power, but we call with truth. Denial of their true natures will not save them, witchling. _You _will not save them."

He gently stroked her cheek, catching a tear and bringing it to his lips, savouring it's taste. As Luna fell to the ground, head bowed and fingers curling through the grass, he bent and kissed the top of her head.

"Thank you for giving us our Princes, nature witch."

Watching him walk away, Luna's heart hardened, and she stood, ready to apparate away. She needed to talk to Minerva. She needed to protect her sons. _Her_ Princes.


	5. The Huntsman

Lily Potter was worried. This was an unusual occurrence as Lily was normally the one making people worry. She was a Slytherin; sly, clever and, if she was honest, twisted. She blackmailed, tormented, used and abused. Never before had she felt like she was the hunted, the fly trapped on a spiderweb. What was worse was that she knew she only had herself to blame.

She should never have listened to Montague. When he had come to her with his plan to gain vengeance for his near death at Lorcan Scamander's hands, she had agreed to help him, after demanding a fair price for her cooperation. She had agreed not due to any feelings of friendship toward the spolied, arrogant Montague heir, but because she had always wanted the Scamander twins. They were beautiful, their power would flow through her when she was near them; Lorcan tasting of blood and fire and the heat of the midday sun, Lysander tasting of apples, ice and the cool darkness of midnight. Their magic whispered darkness and stroked across her spine like gentle fingers caressing a beloved pet.

When Lysander had taken her after she had given him the potion filled pear, she had been lost to the sensations, his smell, his fingers gripping her waist as he fucked her hard and fast. The knowledge that Lorcan had seen them only made her enjoy it more, hope that Lorcan would come to her too, whether for revenge on Lysander or any other reason.

When Lorcan had not come, but had instead killed Montague with a savagery that terrified her, Lily was scared. Scared that she would be next, that Lorcan's madness would descend upon her in twisting flames coloured black, in screams inside her head that would make her claw out her eyes and rip out her hair. That he would grant her death only after destroying her mind, body and soul.

His arrest had calmed her nerves, allowing her to believe she was safe from Lorcan's hatred. When Lorcan was released and returned to school only two days later, she began to make plans to flee from the burning gaze that seemed to follow her everywhere.

He was stalking his prey. The scent of her fear was like the sweetest perfume, sharp and pure. The hounds were baying inside his brain, pushing him onward, faster and more determined. The prey was cunning, but he was the huntsman and he was implacable in his pursuit. As he closed in on his prey the baying grew louder, triumphant and happy.

"Hello Lily. I'd like a word, if I may." Word spoken without hint of the bloodlust and growing madness inside.

As his magic rose like a tidal wave to crash over the prey and crush her under it's weight, he heard a voice in his head that wasn't his.

"Well done my Princeling."


End file.
